


Not for the folks at home

by crimsonkitty



Category: Baseball RPF
Genre: Anxiety Disorder, Baseball, Best Friends, Conversations, Friendship, Gen, RPF, San Francisco Giants
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-11
Updated: 2012-05-11
Packaged: 2017-11-05 04:47:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/402592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crimsonkitty/pseuds/crimsonkitty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Burrell doesn't ask how he’s doing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not for the folks at home

**Author's Note:**

> This is just something quick dealing with Huff and [the things he's been going through lately](http://www.sfgate.com/cgi-bin/article.cgi?f=/c/a/2012/05/04/MNB51ODPJI.DTL). Actually it's more me thinking Huff deserved some best friend time and a normal freaking conversation without anyone asking questions he doesn't want to answer. Thanks to Alex for the quick beta. Title from "Some Nights" by Fun. ( _This one is not for the folks at home; Sorry to leave, mom, I had to go. Who the fuck wants to die alone, all dried up in the desert sun._ )

Burrell doesn't ask how he’s doing.

Aubrey hasn’t seen him since he got back. Hasn’t really seen much of anyone outside of a couple shouted greetings echoing down the hallway. He supposes he should feel guilty about that. About everything, really. But today’s a good day. And no one’s done more than give him a smile or a fist bump to the shoulder. He can pretend the whole horrifying mess has fallen to the wayside for a few hours.

Not that Burrell hasn’t been texting him stupid shit ever since he learned Aubrey was still alive and not about to jump out of the airplane at 30,000 feet. But Pat’s been down in the minors, scouting some of the younger guys and just trying to figure out what his place in the world is gonna be after his retirement.

Today was Aubrey’s first day back out on a field of any kind. It felt good, being in the familiar park, the stretch of his shoulders as he took a swing. The sun was bright, just on the edge of too warm, and his sunglasses were still in his locker. Neither of the teams were out for BP yet so he meandered back into the dugout to watch the grounds crew get ready for first pitch. The grass still smelled the same.

The guy they got him seeing. He’s a good guy. Though Aubrey’s jaded enough to know he’s paid to be. But Dr. Walker is pudgy and wears suspenders and mostly lets him talk about whatever he wants until the words run right out of Aubrey’s mouth and he’s got nothing left to say.

Aubrey’s thinking about their next appointment when Burrell plops down next to him on the bench and stretches his feet out like he never left. Like he still does this everyday. Aubrey's not used to the street clothes. He thought it was getting easier, not having that hand on his shoulder every game. Maybe he was just lying to himself.

They don’t say anything and eventually the team comes out, beating gloves against fists or looking down the long line of a bat. Pat stays there next to him, foot tapping against the ground at an unknown tempo. Aubrey rests his chin on his hands.

"You remember that girl from back in school?"

Aubrey looks over but Burrell isn't looking at him. He's watching Crawford swing at a pitch, trained eyes focusing in on the shift and the movement of the bat. The ball smacks against the inside of the cage.

"Which one?" Aubrey asks. Crawford steps out and Cabrera steps in. He knocks the head of his bat against his palm.

Burrell hums for a second. "The one with the brown hair? Who could blow smoke rings with her tongue. What was her name? Jazelle? Jeanette? Jessica?" He clucks his tongue and tilts his head to the side, trying to think back fifteen years.

"Diane." Aubrey laughs. He does remember her.

She and Burrell holed up in Burrell’s then apartment for a week. He wouldn't answer the phone or even call back when Aubrey left messages asking him if he was actually ‘ _dead in a ditch somewhere, you stupid sonuvabitch._ ’

Finally, mad enough to break someone’s face, Aubrey took matters into his own hands and knocked on the door, yelling for Burrell to open up before he kicked it in. When no one answered, he grabbed for the spare key and, instead of his supposed best friend, found a beautiful, buck naked, dark-haired girl sitting on the couch. She was eating a bowl of cereal.

The girl only smiled at the sight of him and put an arm around her breasts. Aubrey always suspected it was more for his benefit than for hers. She kissed him on the cheek when she left, right in front of Pat.

"Diane,” Burrell says softly, rolling the name on his tongue. “Right. She was somethin' wasn’t she.”

Aubrey shrugs. He vaguely remembers someone with happy eyes and a teasing smirk. But it was a long time ago. That first meeting will always stand out, though.

“She liked you, you know that?" Burrell continues and Aubrey doesn’t really know what to say to that.

"What?" He glances at Burrell, eyebrows meeting the brim of his hat.

Burrell nods. "Yeah. Kept asking about you after that time you walked in. Think that's why we only lasted a couple weeks."

"It's the drawl. Women love it." His accent is a shadow of what it once was and he doubts either of his kids will ever pick it up. But it’s like the song; _ladies love country boys._

Burrell lets out a small laugh. “God, you were a lame kid back then. Don’t know why we worked the way we did.”

“Lame?” Aubrey shakes his head. “Nah, I just had manners before I met you.”

“Manners?” Burrell snorts.

Aubrey elbows him hard in the side, muttering, “Asshole.”

Burrell gives his face a shove in retaliation and Aubrey throws out his arms to keep from falling off the bench.

“Still better lookin’ than you,” Burrell tells him, corner of his mouth lifted as Aubrey sits back up.

Now it’s Aubrey’s turn to snort in disbelief. “Fuck you and the square jaw you rode in on, Burrell.”

Burrell flashes his teeth at Aubrey, tongue tucked to the edge of them, and Aubrey can only roll his eyes.

They fall back into a comfortable silence, leaning back against the wooden bench and following a game of catch between some of the pitchers. Romo ends up chasing one into center field but it’s too far away for the sound of laughter to reach the dugout.

The stillness of the moment is only broken when Pat stretches his arms above his head and stands up.

Aubrey looks up at the shape of him, outlined in the sun. “You gotta be somewhere?”

“Yeah,” Burrell chuckles. “Like half an hour ago.” He puts his hands in his pockets and cracks his neck once. Twice. Aubrey waits for the sympathetic shoulder touch or the look that he’s starting to expect.

Burrell doesn’t do anything but shoot him a small grin and kick at his cleats. “I’ll see you after, Huffy.”

He walks onto the field, out of place in his shiny black shoes and dark jacket, sun bleaching out his features. The park is quiet beyond the rhythmic thwack of a bat hitting a baseball. A pulse beating in time with the city.

Aubrey takes a deep breath and holds it in.

_Thwack._

_Ba-bump._

_Ba-bump._


End file.
